


Beauty

by EyeLoch



Series: Reann Future AU [2]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, bit of blood, minor slavery mentions, someone gets shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeLoch/pseuds/EyeLoch
Summary: An au fic set in a possible future, where Ezra is now going around the galaxy, freeing slaves now that the Empire fractured after Endor.A routine mission goes awry, causing some time of reflection for both Ezra and Reann.





	

**Author's Note:**

> After writing “Four Possible Endings”, I rather felt like indulging in a few more overtly ship-y stories about the parings involved. Here’s the the only one I completed, a hurt-comfort style tale for the thoroughly neglected Twoberry (or Ezrann, or Rezra) paring. Reann Tomvig is from the UK Magazine comics, where Ezra convinced her to defect.

“I must look a mess,” Reann said, the second day after the incident.

It took Ezra a while to catch her offhand comment – he wasn’t in great shape himself, after that near-disaster of a latest mission.  Blistering wasn’t much fun, and the negligible amounts of bacta remaining meant all of the plasma bolts that had buzzed him were taking their revenge.  It reminded him a little of back when he was a child, oddly enough – bar the terrors of possible infection.

Compared to her though…

* * *

They’d been on almost the opposite ends of the slaver’s ship when it happened.  With security a fair bit tougher than expected, Reann had gone to take the bridge – while Ezra went down to the prison-like hold to make sure the slaves were freed.  In the fetid “cargo” bay, slicing though cell locks with his lightsaber (and deflecting guards’ potshots), he felt it instantly – felt the plasma tear through muscle and tissue, scorching past her ribs.  She was screaming.  He was screaming.

As he felt her go into shock he was already running to her.  His body seemed to be on auto-pilot – legs running, lightsaber deflecting without emotion – his mind focused on her force presence wavering.  As her reached the cockpit he saw what happened – a standoff went wrong, the devaronian’s enhanced blaster pistol somehow breached her body armour.  It hadn’t helped him much – Reann was much too disciplined to not get a good shot off, even in such painful circumstances.

As Ezra ran to her, the dying slaver tried to take another shot.  With a lightsaber movement, it ended his life instead.

Red blood was starting to dry on her blue armour.  Her breathing was shallow, weakening.  In fear Ezra opened the visor of her helmet – her eyes stared back, unfocused.

“Stay with me!” he breathed, fingers unbuckling her breastplate, hands pushing fabric down onto the wound, then finding where to start chest compressions. It wasn’t until her breathing was steady again, and blood had stopped flowing that he heard the chirp from the comm. Their droid was trying to contact him – saying the last of the slaver thugs had been subdued by him and the slaves Ezra had freed.  

“Good.  Good.” He said, unfocused, still breathing hard.  “She needs to get to our medbay now.”  At the droid’s confusion he almost laughed, somehow. Why didn’t everyone know how badly Reann had been hurt?

* * *

Swabbing her damaged ribs with the last of the bacta was almost meditative.  As he helped her burnt and lifeless tissues to heal, he let his mind reach out, let the force tell him of what the rest of the universe was going through.  Many were happy, on the now captured heavy freighter. The feeling of true hope within the newly freed was wonderful, for the moment justifying any potential loss.  In others though, the feelings were tempered with sorrow – those who were wounded, those who had died.  Some of the wounded, some of the dead had happened because of him – if he’d stayed with them, let Reann die, he could have saved several lives.

There were ways he could coldly justify it - Reann Tomvig would go on to help many more slaves than any of the others he could have helped, after all.  But he shouldn’t.  That wasn’t what he’d thought about in the moment – he’d simply cared about her more than the others.  But he’d never had any chance of being the perfect Jedi, not with the war and suffering he’d seen.  He needed his bonds to keep him anchored in the light, no matter how many old texts warned against attachments.

The swab was dry.  The bacta had finished being absorbed.

* * *

“I must look a mess,” Reann said, the second day after the incident.  It was basically true, for both of them.  Between setting the former slaves up with their contacts in the New Republic, escorting the ship to the rendezvous point and Ezra’s best attempts at using his talents to help the worst affected of those torn away from their families, they’d run themselves ragged when they should be recuperating.  

That wasn’t what she meant though, and they both knew it.  She was healing nicely, but it was already obvious the wound would scar.   She knew she should just be thankful she was alive, that her ribs weren’t permanently damaged, but yet…

“Oh,” Ezra said, “don’t _ever_ worry about something like that.”  At her frown, his brows knitted together.  “Look, erm, you’re all slender and pale – that sort of core world prettiness.”

“Ezra, you’re _not_ helping –“

“That’s not why you’re beautiful though,” he quickly cut her off, “there’s tons of people like that.”

At her frown softening a little, he pressed on.  “Do you know what I see?  When I look at you?”

“No?”

“Well,” he said, stroking the bandaged wound lightly, “here I see where you saved a ship full of slaves.” At her slight quirk of an eyebrow, he continued, running a fingertip over a tiny scar on her neck, “here’s where you had a slave tracker put in you for that undercover mission.  We couldn't have exposed the largest crime syndicate in the mid-rim without that!”

“Charmer!” she laughed weakly, finally managing a watery smile.

“Well,” he grinned, tracing a circle where a vibro-knife had once cut into her thigh, “in that case, would you like me to show exactly how beautiful I think you are?”


End file.
